


Learn To Be Lonely

by FrancesOsgood



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 09:30:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21241904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrancesOsgood/pseuds/FrancesOsgood
Summary: Divorced and down on her luck, Sarah Williams runs across a remarkable find while working in an antique store. The discovery brings her back into the path of the adversary she thought only existed in her imagination. It's up to her to reunite the embittered king, now a shell of himself, with his past and restore the magical realm he left behind.





	Learn To Be Lonely

**Author's Note:**

> A slight riff on "The Secrets We Keep" but with a much darker vibe. This former Goblin King is sarcastic, bitter and mostly lacking the natural charisma and charm I kept in TSWK. Sarah is also a bit darker. Weather-worn and full of stubborn pride, she is strong, yet broken. Their interactions are sharply emotional, harsh and sometimes bordering on violent. Fluff will be minimal, but there may be some dark humor. There will also be sexual content aplenty, though all consensual.  
As always, questions and comments are welcome and I will do my best to answer and respond to each one.
> 
> ~Fanny~

The two figures moved in the fractured darkness, twisting and entwining beneath the thin sheets. Their bodies grinded together in a jagged rhythm, pushing and pulling as they panted and grunted.

“Oh god, Eric,” Sarah moaned as her partner moved on top of her and inside her. Her arms were around his neck and her knees were clamped against his body. He pivoted against her, driving deep into her core and she arched up against him. Another hard thrust brought her crashing over the edge, her head thrown back, eyes clenched tight as the pleasure pulses overtook her body. Eric rode out her orgasm, moving inside her as her walls spasmed around his length and she writhed beneath him. His own climax quickly followed and he pulled out of her, shuddering as he emptied himself onto the threadbare duvet. 

He pulled himself off her and collapsed onto the sagging mattress beside her. 

“Holy fuck, Sarah,” he said, draping on arm over his forehead. “You do wicked things to me.”

“Ditto,” sighed Sarah. She looked toward the window, where daylight was creeping through the cloudy glass panes. Her alarm clock read 5:23. She sat up and threw her legs over the side of the bed.

“Where do you think you’re going?” asked Eric. He sat up on his elbow and frowned, his shaggy blonde hair falling across his bright blue eyes.

Sarah turned back to him. “It’s Monday. I have to get ready for work,” she said. “Some of us have to make a living.”

“Right,” replied Eric, flopping back against the mattress. “I remember those days,” he joked. 

Sarah shook her head and stood, stretching her arms over her head. “We can’t all have the good fortune of being picked up by a national news journal,” she said, yawning. She wasn’t resentful of Eric’s stroke of luck, not really. She had worked with him in journalism for years and they’d always had a natural rapport with one another even when they competed. But Sarah had a gut feeling that _ she _ would have been the one chosen by _ The North American Ledger _if she had been male. 

“Don’t be jealous,” said Eric. “It’s not nearly as glamorous as it sounds.”

“Whatever,” replied Sarah, tugging at the stained duvet. “Get up so I can strip this bed.”

Eric reluctantly pulled himself off the lumpy mattress and padded into the kitchen to make coffee. Sarah dropped the sheets and duvet into a basket to take to the laundromat later. Her building didn’t have washers or dryers, but there was a coin-operated laundry a few blocks away. 

After showering and dressing, Sarah made her way into the kitchen where Eric waited with a hot cup of coffee. He had dressed in the clothes he’d worn when he’d come over the night before and was tying his sneakers when she entered the kitchen. Seeing her, he stood and fished his wallet out of his pocket. He pulled out a few crisp bills and laid them on the kitchen counter. 

“I know you hate it when I do this,” he said, immediately noting her displeased expression at seeing the money. 

“No,” she told him, her voice thick with sarcasm, “I adore it when you make me feel like a cheap hooker.”

Eric groaned and massaged his brow. “Sarah, I’m not paying you for sex,” he said. “You know that. But there is nothing in your fridge besides a carton of expired milk and half a bottle of Pinot Grigio.” 

“I just haven’t had time to go grocery shopping yet,” Sarah lied. In truth, she’d been surviving on noodle cups and frozen burritos. Most of her paychecks went to pay alimony to her ex-husband, Logan. She’d been supporting him for several months toward the end of their marriage and the divorce settlement stipulated that she continue to do so for a specified time or until he secured a decent job, something he seemed in no great hurry to do.

The rest of her funds went to bills and rent, which was exorbitant considering the small, rundown space she’d settled into. There was hardly anything left over for small luxuries like food beyond cheap frozen or dried goods. Unlike Eric, Sarah had had little luck in the dying journalism market. She freelanced here and there for a couple of cents per word, but it hardly paid for the work she put in. She supplemented her income by working at a rather shabby antique store downtown. She was getting by, but just barely. She bitterly swiped the money off the counter and stuffed it into her pocket. 

“Don’t spend it all on cheap Italian wine,” Eric said with a smile. 

“For your information, that bottle was given to me,” she retorted. 

“Whatever,” sighed Eric. “Just buy some real food, okay?” 

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Sarah…”

She looked up at him and he paused, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “Sarah,” he continued, “As much as I enjoy being your fuckboy, I don’t think I want to keep going like this.”

“What are talking about?” Sarah asked.

“I mean, the sex is great, but that’s all we have,” Eric told her.

“Isn’t that enough for now?” she questioned.

“Look, I know you got burned by Logan. I know it still hurts, but this kind of empty relationship probably isn’t healthy. Besides, you guys divorced over a year ago. You need to move on.”

Sarah narrowed her eyes at him, her mouth drawn into a fierce scowl. “Move on with you, you mean? You know I don’t think of you that way, Eric. We’re friends, aren’t we? Friends with benefits. Why do we have to complicate that?

“Hmph,” grunted Eric. “I’m good enough to fuck, but not good enough for anything beyond that.”

“Oh come on, Eric!” Sarah cried, throwing up her hands. “You know that’s not true. Why do you say things like that?

“Because I know your pattern, Sarah,” Eric told her quietly.

“My pattern?”

“You think of him and what could have been, you feel angry at him and disappointed in yourself and then you call me.”

Sarah glared at him as the meaning of his words sank in. Eric shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at the floor.

“Don’t think it was lost on me that yesterday would have been your third wedding anniversary,” he told her. 

“Eric, I…” Sarah tried to think of something to say. 

“Let’s just drop it, okay?” said Eric. He moved toward her and caressed her cheek. “I’m still here if you need me, Sarah. But no more one-night-stands.” 

Sarah nodded, her face flushing with shame and frustration. She hadn’t meant to play with Eric’s feelings. She’d thought they were on the same page. They were just having fun. 

“Sure,” she told him, then added with a sly grin, “Your loss.”

Eric smiled and kissed her lips and walked out the door and she was left alone in the tiny dark space she called home. The cramped apartment suddenly felt very empty and Sarah gathered her things and hurried out the door to head downtown. The air outside was turning frigid and as Sarah made her way down to the parking area beneath the building, she silently prayed that her car would start on the first try. The heating and air conditioning had gone out in her Toyota Corolla several months prior, but the drive to her job was short, provided the engine turned over without too much trouble. Fortunately, the car cranked up as soon as she turned the key and Sarah breathed a sigh of relief. She shivered slightly as she steered the car down the gray streets of the little New Jersey town toward the dingy antique store. She parked in the overgrown lot behind the building and entered through the back loading dock.

“Mr. Angelo,” she called to the owner. “I’m here.”

He didn’t appear, but she heard him scrabbling around in the storeroom. “Sarah, good. We have some new arrivals for consignment,” he called to her.

“New stuff?” Sarah asked, leaning against the door of the storeroom. “From where?” She couldn’t remember the last time they had received new pieces for consignment.

Mr Angelo pointed a withered hand toward a crate on the counter. “Have a look,” he told her. “Ain’t much really, but the fellow who brought ‘em in seemed in need of cash from the looks of him.”

“Good luck with that,” Sarah thought sarcastically. The antique store wasn’t exactly a booming business. Saturdays usually brought a decent stream of pickers and tourists looking for a unique find, but weekdays were mostly dead. Sales were minimal any day of the week and Sarah often wondered how Mr. Angelo managed to stay afloat and pay her meager salary. 

She moved toward the large crate and began rummaging through it. She pulled out a few hardcover books in a language she didn’t recognize. The print in them was strange, an ancient-looking lettering with odd curls and strikes and punctuation. It reminded her of something out of Tolkien’s volumes. 

The next item in the box was an ebony guitar inlaid with mother-of-pearl along the fret markers, sound hole and bridge. Sarah lifted the instrument out and strummed a finger over the strings. The body of the guitar was worn in places but it was in tune and in good condition. It would likely sell easily to one of their online collectors. 

Sarah set the guitar aside and continued rummaging through the crate. She withdrew several more books, a few pieces of costume jewelry and a small watercolor of a crumbling palace hall. Sarah stared at the painting, intrigued. In the foreground, debris from the collapsed arched ceiling littered a black and white tiled floor. Stark gray sky showed through exposed beams and rafters of the shattered ceiling. Sarah shuddered at the desolation of the painting before laying it aside. Beneath the watercolor lay a rectangular box covered in red velvet. The velvet was crushed and worn in places, but still vibrant. Sarah gingerly lifted the box out and set it on the counter. 

It looked like a jewelry box, albeit an old one. It had likely contained the costume jewelry Sarah had taken out earlier. She unfastened the dainty metal latches on the front of the box and lifted the lid. Her eyes grew wide and her knees went weak as she looked down at the box’s contents. There, on a cushion of red satin lay a medallion. Sarah’s breath caught in her throat as she ran a finger along the curved edge of the necklace and across the infinity swirl at its center. It gleamed beneath her fingers, heavy and gold, the surface shimmering with eons of secrets and magic. She lifted it up in the dim light of the storeroom and it seemed to pulse beneath her fingers.

_ Sarah… _

She dropped the medallion into the box with a thunk and snapped the lid shut. 

“This can’t be,” she whispered to herself. It couldn’t be the one she remembered. The one from her half-forgotten dream. The one that had laid heavily against the chest of the figure that had loomed over her in the dark passageway. That figure… The make-believe king. Her dark fantasy.

The one she referred to even in her mind only as _ him. _

“Goblin King.” 

* * *

  
  
  



End file.
